War of the Worlds!

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The War of the Worlds, that stark warning by HG Wells that the British might not rule the world forever, unless we get our act together and make sure we're all diseased up to the eyeballs.

Happily, the British government has learnt that lesson and is making sure no germ-fearing Martian would ever dare set foot in the UK right now.

Still, the tale has an allure that even time itself cannot diminish.

At least, that seems to be the case, judging by how many versions of it have been created over the years.

This site's comments section recently demanded I do a feature about that story and, so, here it is.

I'm fairly certain I first became aware of War of the Worlds through the 1953 Hollywood movie which transferred the tale to the United States and brought it forward to the Nuclear Age, so that even mankind's mightiest weapon of the 20th Century could be shown to be useless against such invaders.

Even to this day, I love that movie. We may be able to see the strings on the Martians' war machines but, with their nod towards manta rays and cobras, they remain things of beauty as they glide around, sedately slaughtering all they encounter.

And who can forget the remarkable sound effects that film employed? So remarkable that they've been recycled in various productions over the years.

But, of course, that wasn't the first dramatic adaptation of the book.

That was Orson Welles' radio version from 1938, which, legend has it, terrified the people of North America who didn't realise it was a drama and reacted with mass panic.

At least, that's the claim. Apparently, the number of people taken in, and the scale of their panic, has been greatly exaggerated, possibly by Welles himself, and it's doubtful that more than a handful of people really fled their homes or decided to start shooting at water towers in the belief they were under attack.

Still, it was enough to make Welles' reputation and pave the way for him to find even greater celebrity.

Hollywood made a second stab at a movie, in 2005, when Steven Spielberg pitted Tom Cruise up against the monsters. Although the film's a masterclass in how to direct such an adventure, its plot and characters were, for some of us, less than involving and many find it difficult to have affection for the film, despite its technical virtuosity. 

Almost simultaneously, Pendragon Pictures released their own version which, almost uniquely, stuck to the original story. The film, though, had a budget of approximately £5, starred no one you'd ever heard of and was likened, by critics, to the work of Ed Wood.

Speaking of quality, we shouldn't forget that those purveyors of fine films Asylum also gave us their take on the subject. I haven't seen it but it seems to have gained the same rapturous critical reception that all their productions do.

Inevitably, TV has refused to be left out and 1988 offered up a series starring Jared Martin, a man some of us used to know as, "The bloke with the tuning fork in Fantastic Journey." It would be true to say it was a venture carried out on the cheap, with the Martians having mysteriously gained the budget-saving power to adopt human form, and footage from the 1950s movie being recycled wherever humanly - or inhumanly - possible.

2013 presented us with The Great Martian War 1913-1917, a TV docudrama which rewrote World War One as a battle between Earth and the Martians, incorporating footage from the real-life conflict. 

British TV finally made a stab at its own adaptation in 2019 when the BBC gave us a three-part series that didn't have anything like the funds necessary and was often reduced to having characters tell us what had happened elsewhere, rather than being able to show us. It also used a terrible framing narrative that meant the series was repeatedly flashing back and forwards in a way most viewers seemed to find annoying.

In the same year, Fox and France's Canal+ also had a go at making a TV version; this time, set in modern-day Europe and starring Gabriel Byrne. It seems to have gone down better than its British counterpart, judging by the fact that a second season's been commissioned.

But this is a comics blog and, of course, comics have been willing to tackle the torment as well.

Probably most famously, Marvel gave us Killraven, a man who could change his name at will and thwart talking apes whenever necessary but, mostly, stuck to his usual name and fighting Martians.

Spectacularly verbose, the strip could, at times, be a tough read but, under the care of Don McGregor and Craig Russell, it was always memorable.

Not satisfied with that crack at the tale, Marvel also gave us a straight adaptation of Wells' original, in the pages of Classics Comics #14.

But, arguably, the most offbeat version was Jeff Wayne's distinctly onbeat musical adaptation that, despite keeping the 19th Century setting, brought the book well and truly into the Disco Age.

Released in 1978, and packed with stars like David Essex and Justin Hayward, the double LP soon charged its way up the UK album chart, going on to achieve 9x Platinum status.

Not only that but, in Australia, it went 10x Platinum and, in New Zealand, the thing went 13x Platinum!

Could nothing stop this musical behemoth?

Yes! The Atlantic could!

Because, despite its juggernaut performance in those other realms of the Anglosphere, in the United States, it peaked at 98 on the Top 200, making it, surely, the greatest example of an album failing to cross the Atlantic the world has ever seen. One can only assume it was rammed by the Thunder Child, mid-journey.

So, there you go; War of the Worlds.

After all these myriad adaptations, cash-ins and rip-offs, my favourite version of the tale remains the 1953 movie.

Granted, that might be because I've never actually read the book. I remember making an attempt to do so, during childhood, but losing patience with it when I discovered it didn't have any pictures. That's how sophisticated I am.

But you may have other ideas about what's the best version.

Then again, you may have encountered versions of the tale that I haven't mentioned.

Or you may just have thoughts on the subject in general.

If so, let your voice ring out loud in the comments section, as those church bells rang out when everyone suddenly realised the Martians had corked it.

"Those church bells rang out when everyone suddenly realised the Martians had corked it." Yes, I'm pretty sure that was the last line of the book.

Killraven - Only The Computer Shows Me Any Respect. Amazing Adventures #32.

 As I stand in the middle of Argos - studying its catalogue, for high-end tripods to support my state-of-the art single megapixel camera - people often say to me, "Steve, I know you're a very busy man and don't like to be interrupted by those you view as beneath your contempt but what's your favourite ever literary depiction of tripods for sinister effect?"

I of course reply, "Well there was John Christopher's The Tripods, famously reimagined by the BBC as a show about wine production in Southern France but, when it comes to three-legged terror, I have to go for War of the Worlds, HG Wells' reminder of the dangers of getting too big for your boots."

"But Steve," they say, "you're too big for your boots and it doesn't seem to have done you any harm. After all, here you are in Argos, where only the top people shop."

"Pshaw!" I declare. "My toes are so tough that, when footwear proves too small to contain them, they merely burst out of my shoes, giving me the stylish look you see before you today."

Not only that but, as I roam the corridors of Sheffield's hi-tech virtual reality enormo-dome, otherwise known as the Flat Street Odeon, people often say to me, "Steve, pretty impressive, isn't it? But did you know this used to be the Fiesta Club, once the haunt of stars like Bobby Knutt and the Black Abbots but not necessarily those actual stars?"

All such talk of tripods and virtual reality inevitably forces my mind onto the subject of what has always been my favourite ever Killraven story, Amazing Adventures #32, which is low on tripods but high on virtual shenanigans.

Doing their usual meanderings, Killraven and his band of freemen come across an abandoned virtual reality entertainment complex that gives your fantasies - and nightmares - physical form.

Needless to say, it's not long before they're all philosophising and getting into trouble.

Thanks to Old Skull and his fantasies, Killraven finds himself up against a fire-breathing dragon; a conflict which forms the issue's "A" plot.

But the tale's most memorable sequence is its "B" plot, a flashback to Hawk's youth which finds him arguing with his father and leads to the appearance of Hodiah Twist, a Sherlock Holmes figure so self-assured he refuses to believe the Hound of the Baskervilles is real even when it's killing him.

In a lot of ways, the sequence now seems spiritually hackneyed. Hawk is an American Indian and, this being a 1970s Marvel comic, that means he has to be a bitter and sullen man, brooding on broken treaties and the grimness of the Reservation.

Still, if the theme is over-familiar in a 1970s comic book, the flashback's sudden diversion into an Arthur Conan Doyle parody makes it oddly charming and memorable, the English moors allowing a drastic change in the strip's visual palette.

Don McGregor's script is as verbose as ever but doesn't seem as intrusive or deadening as it sometimes can - possibly because there's very little plot for his words to get in the way of, allowing them plenty of space to expand into and to make it clear that he sees a comic book as a legitimate form of short story writing.

But, ultimately, whatever its literary pretensions, it's a comic, and a comic's nothing without pictures. As always Craig Russell plays a blinder. Given a chance to fling in the psychedelic, the archaic, the futuristic, the industrial and the cute, he seems to be having a ball drawing it all.

It's not a comic I love as much as I did when I was young - frankly, there'd be something wrong me me if I did; I must confess to having been quite obsessed with it at the time - but it'd still go on my list of 1970s issues you have to have read in order for your Bronze Age comics education to be complete.

Clothes Maketh the Man.

As I roam the streets of Sheffield, people say to me, "Steve, with your trilby, string vest, purple loon-pants and Clarks Wayfinders, you're a man who knows how to dress well. Not only that but, with your Clarks Wayfinders on, you need never fear getting lost - nor not being able to identify small woodland creatures you encounter. But, if you had to walk around dressed as a super-hero, which one would it be?"

Well, I think I can safely say you should never ever wear anything Killraven would - unless you want to look like a 1970s' sci-fi porn star....

... and not in a good way.

But, on the issue of what one should wear? Well, I've always had a liking for boots that turn down at the top, in the style of Captain America and Conan.

Then again, I've always been fascinated by Batman's gloves with the bendy spikes sticking out of them.

Iron Man's armour'd make me feel safe from the threat of flying bullets and give me the impunity to become as totally evil as I seek to be. But I can't help feeling it must be a bit claustrophobic in there and, looking at that mask, he must only be able to see things that're directly in front of him.

There's no way I'd choose a cape, as that'd be ostentatious - and a threat to life and limb if I tried to use a revolving door whilst wearing one.

The Fantastic Four's togs always looked too much like overalls for my liking.

Let's face it, the Hulk's purple trousers aren't a costume. They're just purple trousers.

So, in the end, I think I'm going to have to go for The Flash's outfit. Not only does it have little wings on it and lightning bolts to signify the dynamism that's rightfully mine but it's also my favourite colour - red. On top of that, it cunningly conceals itself inside a ring.

Rings are indisputably a good thing. Just ask the Mandarin.

And that's why, if forced to spend the rest of my days in Spandex, it's the costume of The Flash that I shall be wearing.

Either that or Adam Warlock's.

But, Reader; what super-hero outfit would you wear if forced to?

Killraven's War of the Worlds: Amazing Adventures #35, the 24-Hour Man.

In Amazing Adventures #35, Killraven encounters the 24-Hour Man - and, just his luck, it turns out not to be an emergency plumber. Instead it's a bright green man who only lives for 24 hours but whose mind contains the memories of his entire race, a race which is seemingly never composed of more than two beings at a time; the latest 24-Hour Man and his more long-lasting father, G'Rath, a huge green, death-dealing monster.

Because of this, each new 24-Hour Man has to find his father a new mate before he croaks and takes his entire race's memories with him In the absence of any other females, he decides Carmilla Frost is just the woman to be the mother to the next generation.

As this involves being impregnated by a giant green monster, Carmilla Frost thinks otherwise and Killraven and his never-merry men set out to save the day - although in truth they don't seem all that concerned for her welfare. I don't see any words along the lines of, "We must save Carmilla!" anywhere. But then, when you're busy philosophising about things, what space is there in your heart for urgency?

I must admit this has always been one of my favourite Killraven tales and may have been the one that first got me into the strip when I was a kid, after my having been unimpressed with my first exposure to it in issue #31. When you get down to it, it's as nonsensical, sometimes bathetic, and futile as all other McGregor Killraven stories, although McGregor's verbosity doesn't in this case detract from the story as much as it might. Somehow his style perfectly suits the subject matter.

So, what's the appeal?

Well, the thing takes place in a cemetery, and it rains a lot, so it's got atmosphere on its side. There's also the fact that the 24-Hour Man's life-cycle and nature are not exactly straightforward, so you have to pay attention to work out what's going on. Sadly, it's not drawn by regular penciller Craig Russell but it is drawn by Keith Giffin, an artist I've always had a lot of time for.

But the truth is that in this case the work looks nothing like I expect Keith Griffin to look, partly because it's inked by Jack Abel who totally disguises Giffin's usual Jack Kirby tendencies but also because the layouts are provided by Craig Russell himself - though the Steve Ditko-ness of certain figures and faces, suggests Russell may have supplied more than just the layouts in places.

In the end, you don't really care about any of the characters, being there as they are to spout speeches and comment on the nature of the world, life, death and anything else that entered McGregor's mind while he was writing, but a mixture of atmosphere and imagery win over to make it a tale you're never likely to forget.

Killraven vs Apeslayer Poll Results.

The results of our latest poll are in - and it's an eye-opener for all detractors of simian saboteurs. According to you, the reader, when it comes to who'd win a fight between Apeslayer and Killraven, eight of you voted for Apeslayer, against a mere two for Killraven. One voted for a draw, and one (me) voted for, "I don't have a clue."

Given that Apeslayer and Killraven were exactly the same character under different names, this landslide victory for Britain's bonobo battler can only be viewed as a major turn-up. All I can assume is that people feel it's harder fighting talking apes than it is fighting Martians.

So, well done to Apeslayer. You may not have been much loved at the time but you clearly are now.

The Department of Pointless Questions: Results. Apeslayer. A Rose by any other name.

Well done to (c)The Stardust Kid 2010 on correctly remembering that, in the Marvel UK Killraven/Planet of the Apes mash-up that was Apeslayer, the unfortunate Carmilla Frost found herself renamed San Simian. Well done to me too. The question's already had just under a hundred page-views in the few hours since it was posted, making it already the site's most viewed post of the week and knocking at the door of the site's all-time Top Ten. Who'd have thought there was such love for Apeslayer out there?

Like just about everyone else on the Internet, it seems, The Stardust Kid goes joint top of our Department of Pointless Questions Leaderboard.

For those of a curious bent, the original question can be found here.

PS. Don't forget to vote in our Apeslayer v Killraven poll. You never know, with all those Martians and speaking apes around, the future survival of humanity might depend on it.

The Department of Pointless Questions: Apeslayer. A rose by any other name.

As we all know, the weekly Marvel UK Planet of the Apes comic reprinted US Marvel's Planet of the Apes material so quickly it often ended up reprinting stories before they'd even been printed in the first place.

When even that didn't work and they ran out of material altogether, they came up with the brilliant wheeze of getting the Killraven stories and having an artist redraw the bad guys' heads as ape heads, and replaced the word, "Martians," with the word, "Apes." Thus was born the legendary strip we in the UK knew as Apeslayer.

Obviously, in these tales, Killraven became Apeslayer but what was the new name bestowed upon the luvverly Carmilla Frost?

Killraven. Amazing Adventures #31

I was an undemanding child. Generally speaking, as long as a comic didn't star Nick Fury I was happy, which means a mag had to work really hard for me to hate it.

Clearly the snappily titled Amazing Adventures featuring Killraven Warrior of the Worlds, worked incredibly hard because, when I first got my hands on it, I instantly decided it was the worst comic I'd ever read; pretentious, dull and meaningless. Not only that but it bore a noticeable resemblance to the distinctly lame Apeslayer in Marvel UK's weekly Planet of the Apes title.

A quick check made it clear that, in those tales, some crafty personage had redrawn ape heads onto mutants and robots to make Killraven look like a Planet of the Apes series. At the time, such an act seemed a con but looking back on it, I greatly admire the ingenuity concerned and wish they'd continued with the policy after they finished the Apeslayer run. I'd have loved to have seen the adventures of the Apetastic Four or Tomb of Ape-ula.

But Killraven himself was another matter. For those who don't know, the series was based on the idea that, having failed to invade the Earth last time around, in HG Wells' War of the Worlds, the Martians who'd stayed at home had developed a cure for Earth's diseases and, in the early years of the 21st century, had re-invaded, this time succeeding. Now Killraven and his motley band of Freemen were battling to liberate their world from the Martians.

Having decided Killraven was a total dud, I then changed my mind and went on to buy practically the whole run of Don McGregor and Craig Russell's series. After just two issues I was convinced it was the greatest comic ever, full of wisdom, insight and profundity, raising the American comic book to the status of genuine art form.

But Amazing Adventures #31, The Day The Monuments Shattered, was where my Killraven experience began. Reading it now as an adult, I find my opinion's swung completely back the other way. The story's just an unfocused mess. The Freemen hang around a bit, fight a monster for no noticeable reason, other than that it's there, and then kill the bad guys. What the monster's tossed into the mix for, I don't know. It just seems to be there for the sake of throwing yet another element into a story that already has two bad guys for our heroes to fight.

What never occurred to me as a kid was that the golden arches that feature so prominently in this tale are meant to be the McDonalds logo. Therefore, this tale's making a point about McDonalds, or fast food, or the consumer society, or something.

Isn't it?

The only problem is I can't figure out what that point is. And that's the trouble I have with Killraven these days which is that it seems to me that, ultimately, Don McGregor didn't actually have an awful lot to say but insisted on saying it in as many words as he possibly could.

I also wonder how Craig Russell felt about the whole thing. He was producing some of the finest art you'll ever see in a comic book, only to see McGregor plastering captions and speech balloons all over every single millimetre of it.

On top of so many words being used to say so little, there's the problem that the people in Killraven don't speak like people. They speak like poets would if poets spoke like people imagine poets speak. Even this issue's derelict sailor speaks like he majored in philosophy before becoming a booze-befuddled drunk.

And so we get the odd dichotomy, because, if anyone asked me was Killraven any good, in all honesty, I'd have to tell them no. If anyone asked me should they buy McGregor and Russell's entire run on the series, I'd have to tell them yes. Not just because it's a beautiful looking strip but because, although the thing didn't work, at least it tried to raise the American comic book to another level. And because not many comics of that time even tried to do that, it at least deserves some love for that.